antiscians…

261e0f346132542f064e3ac1c8d69499

He holds space with meaning

She whispers space in crowds

with gentle hands he treats

tangible sorrow nimble around a cause.

She hashes out her days, fury riddled

Steel minds, tricked to meld

orbiting their echoing heart.

 

Antiscians,

opposing poles rythmed to the inevitable.

 

Shipped into subdued today’s

regimented to phase one tomorrows

nostalgia harbours melancholy truths

swallowed by the cruel tide of time

damned to spirit voids, heart blanks,

In fragmented lives, aware of their lacking.

 

N x

 

 

 

SaveSave

Advertisements

A Promise to 24…

IMG_2838IMG_2841IMG_2839IMG_2815IMG_2840IMG_2807IMG_2814IMG_2837IMG_2825IMG_2834

You’ve exhausted yourself poor girl. Unable to create yourself like everyone else, unable to stop craving otherwise. You take your circumstance for granted that’s true but it isn’t you, it’s her and still you fail to make peace between the two of you. Of course you only want the best for yourself, a rich tapestry of life. Late nights with the ones you love, to get lost in grand cities, to feel so utterly insignificant that there is nothing to you but complete freedom. You want the world to ravish you and you’ve succeeded mightily at times but this is the year we try to make it stick. – Journal entry

Twenty Four is my wild year, the year I push and push until the paralysis crumbles under the pressure of my ferocity. Every day I’m taking minute steps toward it. I’m hungry for liberation, I never suited this timid creation, not with all of this abundant aspiration, this urgency for living, this need to seek out the characters in the crowd and befriend them.

“I never really understood New Year. To me, my birthday was always my chance to start over or keep on with the good.” – My work boss.

Wellington reminded me of all the things I love about living. Scattered routine, talking late into the night with exceptional humans, dancing around completely oblivious to reality, shitty places painted pretty in shades of memory. I missed my friends, I missed the adventure I came here for. The past few months haven’t defeated me, I’ve defeated me. But I’ve had some crazy reboot, less to do with a birthday and more to do with getting away for a couple days. I never knew a place could be so claustrophobic.

Light and love, N x

Noceur…

e8fbe19240c7449a72edf83c51b411ba

“Go where you feel most alive” You advise? Well, that’s a bar with broken souls housed in sodden bodies. Sticky floors and dense air. Watered down liquor, keen hands on bared skin. Cigarette smoke and clustered curses in packed out courtyards. Young, old, ageless for a night. Heady on the promise of losing our minds. Distorted beats and stuttered memories of a careless night. And it sounds like tales of useless debauchery, immature and reckless. But these are the nights when the voices cease and there is room for being. When our tongues loosen and twine with others. Quick quips, thoughts run, common in the need for companionship, just for tonight we revel in the lunacy.

N x

SaveSave

Mount Moments 05…

IMG_2685IMG_2688IMG_2689IMG_2687IMG_2686

22.03.18

Three days off. One day too long. A brazen walk into a tattoo shop. It’s raining, I’m bored, and I’m careless, reckless, desperate for any sort of feeling. So now I welcome a new addition to my arm, a quote that reminds me of dismal days I conquered, that stretch of time when I was both most and least myself. It’s a kind of courage for the days that spiral down that same road, a memento of a project I committed to, resonated with and completed but mostly a little thank you to a musician who taught me a lot about the transitions of being human and making it in this world.

‘It’s Life and Life Only.’ – Bob Dylan.

31.03.18

The moon looks her most threatening tonight, ruthless confidence, beaming magnanimity. But I still find her allure in all of her phases. Great goddess of femininity, the truest most courageous representative of me and all of my sisters.

06.04.18

Independant. Stubborn. Restless. Impossible. What a collection of negative descriptives.

All of those terms have been used to describe me more than once. And I have to admit, regrettably, that they’re true. I used to take pride in my independence but…I’m lonely. And I guess I always have been a little bit, growing up too introverted and unseen. Somewhere I lost the ability to feel the bad in it and just embraced loneliness as my norm. Being alone never really solidified a relationship with myself but rather started this blooming of self disgust. After years of sharing my space, both at work and home it hit hard to be so isolated these past four months. But I think I might of made a break through with her, the me that defied self love for so long. That’s something, right? But in that I’ve found a new hunger for companionship that never really reared it’s head before.

 

Light and Love, N x

 

Moods, Rhythms, Prose…

Inspiration...Inspiration...-2Inspiration...-3

If you had of told her at eight, all chubby cheeked and wide eyed, that she would trace the lines of that bubblegum pink globe, she was fascinated so much by, in a self renovated van, I wonder what she’d of said? Actually, I wager she’d have been a little more forthcoming than her weary sixteen year old self, listening to playlists that tore at the angst in her heart and left her fragile, curled up on a single bed in a purposefully darkened room. That teenager would have laughed with all of the menace of an aged sinner and turned back to the lyrics where such impossibilities were painted with pretty plausibility. And then again at nineteen when just stepping out of her dorm room terrified her, I bet she would have cried at the impossibility of such bravery.

Yet, there she goes, turning up another dirt track, in a country wherein she can’t speak the native tongue but communicates with smiles and waves, with a grateful nod of recognition toward the locals in the streets. At the end is another broad leap into another vast unknown. The rigid levels of a raging waterfall, the steady opening of a vivid lagoon, the stirring depths of the vast sea. She’ll do it though, take the leap I mean, the threat of it will curdle her stomach for a second but she’ll do what she does so well now and silence the doubt. See, she conquered the demon, that was herself all along, back when that demon was her only companion. They grew to know each other and she learned to love that careful loathing, she accepted the demon’s chiding, it’s haughtiness toward the safety of innocence and instead let it push her to embrace a life void of that expected purpose.

Now, she charters her own explorations, talks to people with shaky confidence but makes friends for life, she tries new things with a perspective that is uniquely her own and laughs at all those who never thought she’d board that first flight. Her soul ebbs and flows, her ambition the most wayward tide and it’s catching. Her smiling tales wrapped in golden imagery, snaps of coves and foreign faces, words etched in a tattered notebook, all memories to conquer her own doubts when they rear their head once more. She lives for herself and the loud mystery of our world and that is the fiercest action of all.

If there was one daydream I could make a reality right this minute it would be this one. Do you have any idea how much van renovations cost though? It’s mental! One day, when I can actually drive (because that might help things just a wee bit, ay?) and have the funds. 

Light, love and wild courage, N x

Mount Moments 04…

IMG_2552IMG_2553Processed with VSCO with b1 preset

04.03.18

The breeze whispers memories around her in nostalgic tongues. Her body synchronises itself with the feeling of them even though who she is now is a foreigner to their meanings. The ends of summers, rolling through tall grass, staining a too pretty sundress. Daisy chains twisted into a crown, queen of fragile innocence. That same calming air closing in around her as the summer sun fades, a premature tickle of Autumn coating the twilight.

06.03.18

Some things never change. Like the grip of word formations on my little escapist heart. Crying at a made up moment between fictional people in a public space and feeling, not silly, but warmed by it. Warmed by the easy sorcery of it. The pages of books have always been my haven, a fortress catering for my wildness. Even in those bleak weeks when I was forced to stay stagnant, restless and kept. The words built a door to escape.

07.03.18

Perhaps this is my madness…

Standing on the brink of ambiguity at the surrender of that mystic caress. Playful trails through my matted hair, seductive down my weary arms, all touches teasing like a charming lover. Is this self destruction? To feel trust instead of violation, to fall willingly into its wayward constitution. But I see my likeness in those wild wiles, a home in the madness.

20.03.18

I recognise the gruffness in the twang of Northern dialect in the elderly man. “Where are you from?”

“Ah, Auckland these days but originally Morpeth, North East of England.” It doesn’t matter how long I’m away from home or how much isolation I felt growing up there, I smile warmly at the man and respond eagerly.

“I thought I recognised that accent! I’m from Newcastle.” He joins in with my grin and yells over to his wife.

“This ones a Geordie Lizzie, think we should trust her?” Lizzie laughs and Richard introduces himself properly. We chat for a little while and I find myself straining to hear the two converse as I potter around the cafe. The warming lull of the roughness, the yearning in my chest.

I find that I miss “home” more and more these days but still I have no real intention to return. It’s more a dislike toward a former self for training so hard in mellowing the accent and turning away from my youth and my heritage like it’s something to be ashamed of. My background isn’t all shiny privilege and a high class upbringing. It’s working class determination and the compassion of knowing the struggles of others. It’s knowing the unconditional love of two devoted parents who gave me everything when they had nothing, who showed me everyday that I was worth more than what society said I was, that I could do anything despite my circumstance.

Richard and Lizzie leave me their phone number in case I ever find myself in Auckland or a tricky situation where I might need a safe place to lay my head. As they leave my eyes water a little and I’m left with that tangible buzz of belonging. That echo of northern camaraderie.

Light and love, N x

SaveSave

Lacuna…

af72d94d3e0e999fc08f72037f0e291f

This is me stuck…again. Giving up on a thing because it isn’t at all how I wish to be perceived. I crave skill, experience and insight that I don’t allow myself to prosper in. My anxiety holds me back, I’m embarrassed to ask for opportunities and ashamed of what little I have to offer anyways. I’m not enough, I’ve tried to force myself into things but I fall every time. I want to be raw, organic, completely at one with me and how I connect with you. People read my blog and it thrills me, honestly it does, especially on the posts were I know I’ve laid myself bare. I don’t yearn for success or notoriety but for connection and acceptance. That’s what my journey has always been.  Online, creatively and here, in my reality. It’s why I runaway, why I try to escape myself by escaping a place because I feel deep in my gut this empty space that persists I’m chasing something despite the constant wall that stunts me with every turn.

And the thing I amp up in my head and put my all into achieving is never quite what I’ve built it up to be once I actually get it. It’s always a dream for a day before becoming an exhausted routine all too quick. Like when I’m in a beach town I’ve idealised living in for months, a couple weeks in and I miss the pace of the city. Then when I’m in the city I crave the alienation and mellow timing of beachside living. But moving all of the time doesn’t give me the chance to establish the roots I think I probably need. Because as much as I yearn for a constant group of friends I just can’t accept one place as my permanent home. Imagining being anywhere for longer than a few months pushes me into this awful pit of despair and it sucks. As much as I’ve embraced my free spirit and my ‘grab life by the tits’ attitude, I want to want the settled life. I want to want a companion and a home and a career that gives me purpose. Because the thought of it all is so warmly imagined in my head but the practice of it makes me feel trapped. It just seems so easy to want what society pushes you to want, maybe there is some sense to it after all.

I’m actually sort of sorry if you read this to be honest, it probably doesn’t make much sense which is frustrating because I’ve been working on honestly displaying this anxiety for years. I’m over it, I’m over myself and it’s a rut I can’t keep motivating myself to get out of. I’m so hopelessly tired of being me and trying to fix it by meddling with my external circumstances. I’m almost twenty four and no matter how much I know I’ve progressed I just want to be at peace, to find my footing and stop worrying over all of these things I quite obviously can’t help.

Light and love (oh the hypocrisy of that), N x